


Free Skate

by manhattxn



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hockey AU, Hockey player dream, Ice Skating, Ice Skating AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, THEY ARE JUST, and george is a beautiful talented figure skater, dream is a jock, figure skater george, just so stupid, some internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattxn/pseuds/manhattxn
Summary: George didn't like that his late night practices were always at jeopardy of being cut off by the hockey team. He didn't like the hockey team flat out, and for any number of justified reasons. But, one evening a charming hockey boy starts to prove George wrong about his sport and teammates, while simultaneously working his way into his icy heart.↳ But George didn’t hear the rest of what Dream had said. All he could sense was a searing tingle which emulated from where Dream’s hand had touched his parka as he fell and ended in his palm. George couldn’t stop focusing on his hand; Dreams hand. Dream’s fingers. Interlaced with his. Dream— gripping George's hand like it was the only stable thing in the world. Like if he were to let go, he’d fall into nothingness.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello !! i'm not new to fanfic but i do have to say that this is the first dnf fanfiction i've ever written lol. i got super inspired by a piece @/codiichronicles did on twitter (definitely go check it out) and i had to write down a short drabble. well needless to say, that got me rolling on an entire concept for a full story and here we are hahaha. 
> 
> i hope to keep doing steady updates of this, so stay tuned for updates and thanks in advance for reading !!

George’s breath clouded in front of his face. He stuffed his hands down further into his pockets, and squeezed his elbows in tighter to his body-- trying to absorb any warmth he could. He was freezing already, and wasn’t even on the ice yet.

This was exactly the reason George hated practicing at night. He could never warm up. He was cold walking to the ice rink, he was cold there, and he was cold walking home. Sometimes it took every ounce of will in his body just to get up and go, to force himself to rehearse. 

It was unfair, George thought, that this was the only time he could get the rink to himself. And sometimes that wasn’t even possible-- more often than not there was hockey or other figure skaters from his team vying for a spot in the ice. George didn’t mind sharing the space with his teammates, but the hockey players… he couldn’t stand how much space they took up, how obnoxious they were. 

As he neared the skating rink, it appeared that some of George’s anxiety about having to share the ice wasn’t unwarranted. An alarming number of cars still lined the parking lot, some of which he recognized as belonging to the competitive hockey team. 

“Great,” He huffed. 

George tugged his duffel bag up his shoulder, and pushed in his blaring earbuds, then made the last few steps into the near empty skating arena. 

It wasn’t a large building, so it didn’t take long for George to reach the door to the rink. He took a quick deep breath just outside the glass doors, savoring the last few moments of central heating. Beyond the threshold he could hear the familiar sound of scratching skates, the slap of hockey sticks against ice, and the oh too familiar calls of the rowdy team. 

As George slipped through, all those muffled tones, as well as the icy air, brushed past George’s face. He slipped down the aisles, camouflaged against the unilluminated seats in his black parka, until he reached the final row before the plastic barrier between the ice. Taking a seat in one of the hard plastic chairs, George could just barely make out the sound of someone yelling over the music in his airpods. He glanced across the ice. It was the coach, calling out to the rest of them to pack it up-- they were done for the night. Meaning that today, George wouldn’t have to share the ice with anyone.

Light on the good news, George went to work unlacing his sneakers and replacing them with his pristine white skates. He kept his head down as he listened to the faint vulgar ruckus of the hockey team leaving the arena towards the locker rooms.

George made it good practice to avoid those locker rooms at all costs. Since he was a child in figure skating lessons, he had continuously been harassed and threatened by the bigger, taller, older hockey boys there. At times, it was so fear-inducing that George considered quitting ice skating just to avoid their jeers and slurs. Besides, who would willingly cross paths with a pack of crude, annoying, and sweaty jocks. Hence, George stuck to the dim stadium seats to store his bag and change his footwear, which now perfectly adorned his feet. 

He tucked his black pants over the back part of the skates and stood, only teetering slightly on the thin blades. Still paying no attention to the arena before him, George removed his long parka. Underneath was a thin blue turtleneck, which did a much worse job blocking out the chill than the parka had. George shivered, again reminded of how much he hated practicing at night. 

He tried his best to ignore the chill as he shuffled around his duffle bag for his phone, the final preparation before he could move onto the ice. It was buried, George found, under countless other articles of clothing that he had lazily stashed away in the bag after competitions or practice. George snatched it up and started towards the entrance to the rink. 

George flicked through a couple songs as he walked until he found one that would work decently to warm up to. He reached the small hinged panel in the barrier and swung it open. Then, he stepped onto the slick ice, not even faltering a little bit. Years of face planting when he would first step on ice had trained him well. George shut the gate behind him and set his phone down on the small ledge. He lingered there a few moments, taking the time to stretch out his shoulders and legs. 

After he felt mostly prepared to begin, he skated backwards away from the barrier. George seamlessly glided across the ice, closing his eyes to absorb the cool air and the sensation of the silky ground beneath his skates. He then pivoted his heels back towards the barrier, and pushed his back side towards the edge of the rink as well, which moved him in an arched pattern back to the wall. 

George looked down and took a breath. He leaned into the tempo of his music, becoming aware of how he would use it to move and dance on the ice. Eyes still closed, he pushed off from the wall in unison with the song in his ears and sped across the arena. 

He opened his eyes as he felt himself picking up speed and saw--  _ oh shit, he saw.  _

George tilted his skates to the side, kicking up a flurry of ice that had been scraped off the surface of the rink. He came to a full stop at a little less than halfway across the arena. His arms went limp and he couldn’t even make out the music in his ears anymore. He was so filled with embarrassment that someone else was there with him and he didn’t even notice. Not only that, but also that the other person there was one of the hockey players. All of whom, George had thought left. 

Lucky for the figure skater though, it didn’t seem like the other man minded that they were sharing the ice, or that he had even seen George to begin with. He wanted desperately not to have to address him, but George figured that out of common courtesy, he probably should. So, taking a few glides back from the center, George pulled out an earbud to call to him. 

“Hey,” George spoke up. Probably in a little too timid of a voice, because the hockey player did not turn around; he simply kept shooting at pucks that had been lined up in a row into the goal net. 

George listened to the silence for a moment, and realized that it wasn’t so silent. There was a quiet hum of music coming from somewhere. Coming from the other person out there on the ice. He was engulfed in his music, just as George had been.

“Hey!” He said again, trying this time to make his voice travel through the drum of music in the hockey player’s ears. To no avail. 

George felt a small panic rise in his chest as he traced the surroundings for any way to grab the other guy’s attention. He could barely even see into the seats from under the fluorescents. No luck. George’s eyes rested again on the back of the hockey player. He noticed on his jersey, where there were two words where a last name would have normally gone.  **_The Dream_ ** , they read in green print, stark against the rest of the white sweater save for the numbers zero and seven just below the words. It clearly wasn’t the man's name, but George hoped that it would work better than just “hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> constructive and positive feedback is absolutely welcome in the comments. thanks for reading, i appreciate you !! <33 also part two should be coming pretty soon so check in shortly for an update ^-^
> 
> (also i realized that this is kind of a short section lol so sorry, 2 is coming soon i swear)


	2. Chapter 2

“Uh hey!  _ The Dream…” _ George yelled out, the strange nickname hanging on his tongue. Still no response. “DREAM!” 

With this final call, George gained the other man’s attention. Dream stopped short of completing another swing and let his hockey stick drop to the ground. George watched as he pushed back on his heels, turning to face him. 

George could hardly make out the hockey player’s face from under the helmet he wore. The hockey player went for the clip to his helmet under his chin, and yanked it off from the side. 

As his face became illuminated, George’s body went rigid and his face somehow became even pinker with embarrassment.The hockey player’s face was cast downwards, harsh crinkles between his brows and on either side of his mouth. Was he mad? Or just confused? George couldn’t make out his expression. He gulped, filled with immediate regret for having addressed the hockey player. George’s heart thumped, as memories of the hockey boys who had taunted him throughout childhood resurfaced at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” George stuttered. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the nerves but George realized he couldn’t quite feel his hands. He balled his hands into fists and released, trying to maintain feeling in them. “Sorry, I didn’t um— I didn’t realize that anyone else would still be here.” 

“What?” The hockey player responded, a little louder than George expected which made him jump. Again, he was not sure if it was a natural response or as a result of the anxiety. 

“I said I didn’t realize tha-” He said, but was cut off mid phrase by The Dream shuffling around. 

He shook his sweat-damp hair and reached to his ear, pulling out his headphones. Then, much to George’s surprise, he smiled. The hockey player smiled. Warmly. He grinned so wide that he exposed pearly teeth and completely removed those angry frown lines that had previously plagued his freckled face. 

“Sorry,” Dream breathed through a laugh. “I couldn’t hear you.” He motioned to the cords dangling from his gloved hand. 

“Uhm,” George bumbled, a surprised breath shuttering through his throat. The hockey player was handsome, he thought, and the irony of subverted expectations forced the corners of his mouth upwards. “I was just-” He searched for the words but Dream’s ocean colored eyes shot straight through his drumming spirit. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here tonight, sorry. I-i didn’t realize. If you wanted the whole rink, I’m happy to head out…” 

“Oh!” Said the hockey player. He looked taken back by what George had said. “Oh, no, man. I’ll just keep over here, you can keep practicing on that side. No worries!” He finished, and gave another foolish grin. 

“Okay,” George puffed. “I’ll do my best to stick over here then.” He had half wished that the hockey player would have said he wanted the ice to himself. George really did hate having to practice in front of hockey boys, charming smiles or not. 

“Yeah, absolutely! I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you practicing.” He admitted. George saw the hockey player’s eyes trace his outfit and polished skates. “Figure skater?” He asked. 

George nodded. “Competitive.” George then returned the studied gaze. He took in the white and green jersey again as well as Dream’s much thicker, black skates. “Hockey?”

“Competitive.” He laughed and nodded back. “Season’s kicking up for us pretty soon, so I’m probably gonna be around more often.” 

George’s heart dropped. This wasn’t a one time thing. He was going to have to learn to rehearse in front of a stranger. He would have to be vulnerable in front of a man he didn’t know. Someone who maybe didn’t understand his sport, or someone who could judge him when he wasn’t perfect. 

“Oh…” He breathed. “My season is too. I’ll also be here most nights… I-I guess.” 

“Cool, well,” The hockey player shifted his weight and raised a sandy colored eyebrow. It seemed like he was truly shocked to learn that the two sport seasons aligned for a few months every year-- a fact George was painfully aware of. “I don’t mind sharing the ice if you don’t.”

“I don’t.” A lie. “I don’t mind at all.”

George’s response seemed to please the person across from him. He expressed another summery grin and tucked his headphones back into his ears. As George pushed back towards the wall again, Dream (or whatever his real name was) pulled his helmet over his honey colored hair and he returned to the line of pucks. 

The figure skater stared into the ice. He was cold. God he was cold. And while George could admit that the hockey player had made a decent first impression, he desperately wanted to leave and go somewhere he could be alone… and warm. 

But he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. 

He hadn’t been lying when he had told Dream that his competition season was starting again soon. George needed to start getting in quality solo rehearsals if he wanted to place well. So, reluctantly, George replaced his earbuds. And with one last glance at the hockey player, George started his rehearsal— taking extra care to stay on his side of the ice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two lets gooooo ^3^ hope you enjoy, sorry that it's so short again. part 3 hopefully coming as soon as possible but i do have an exam this week so maybe a little bit later than i'd hope. thanks for reading !!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is music that you might want to listen to for part of this chapter. if you want to listen along, just look up "Ocean Eyes Piano Cover Rousseau" and the first video that pops up is the music. you can find it on spotify and youtube ^-^

Half an ice skating rink was manageable — but definitely not enough space for either athlete. As Dream’s practice drills became more complicated, it got significantly harder for him to keep pucks from flying onto George’s side. And as George got further into his routine, the harder it was for him to not take up more of the ice. It was clear that both of them were limiting themselves in order to make space for the other. The sentiment was nice, George thought, but there was no way either of them were having a productive night. 

After a good hour and a half of sheepish practice, George saw the hockey player begin collecting his pucks and miniature traffic cones he had been using to train skating maneuvers. He was pretending to be scrolling through music on his phone while lazily skating backwards across his half, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching from the corner of his eye.

The hockey player, with all his stuff piled up in his arms, beamed at George as he exited the skating rink. George brought himself to a full stop and gave a timid wave goodbye. He watched Dream hobble along the path down towards the locker room, until he disappeared into the darkness beyond the fluorescent lights. 

George let out a deep breath. Finally. Alone. 

He reveled in the utter silence of the space for a moment before also walking off the ice on the opposite side the hockey player had left from. Though, he wasn’t leaving. No, George just quickly stored away his earbuds in his duffle bag before running right back on. He now had the opportunity and space to truly practice his shows alone, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He would use the last few ounces of energy he had to perform through them. So, excitedly, George queued songs for both the long and short programs up on his phone. 

The short program song was a random piece of classical music his coach had recommended he use. George felt no particular attachment to it. It was just another piece on the long list of classical music he had performed to in his time figure skating. However, the long program song was something George had specially picked out. 

It was different from what he usually skated to. Most of the time, his show music wasn’t even from this decade. This was the exact opposite. It was a piano cover of something new and fairly popular.  _ Ocean Eyes,  _ was the song, though a version without lyrics and entirely on the piano. He wasn’t sure what it was about it, but the first time he heard this version his chest welled with a bittersweet feeling. He was completely taken by the song and knew that he absolutely wanted to use it for a show. 

George flicked the play button on his phone and sped out into the middle of the ice to begin the routine for the short program. He felt the quiet music echo through the arena and his limbs as he started. He ebbed and flowed against the rhythm, slowly getting used to the full space. Though, not for long; two minutes and thirty seconds of choreography went by fast and before he knew it he was back in the middle of the rink, panting. He didn’t mind that it went by fast, though, he was more eager to rehearse the long program anyways. 

There was a moment of silence as George struck a flamboyant opening pose. He thought that if anyone saw him alone in here standing like that, they would probably think he was a maniac. 

Then, the first note hit and the fluid instinct of dance took him across the ice. He forgot all about how ridiculous he may or may not have looked. He didn’t care anymore, he was totally enveloped in the music. 

Even though he was alone out there, George treated the room as if it were full of adoring fans. He smiled and grimaced like he was telling a story without words but with his body and skates alone. 

He reached one end of the ice and came to a jump pass. George took a calming breath before entering into the difficult leap. He felt his feet leave the ground, spin in the air, and then return to the ice with a solid landing. He pushed off a few more times before bounding into the ether again, only to touch ground once more. Unfortunately though, this jump did not finish as gracefully as the former. As he touched down, George felt his skate make contact with the ice but slide out behind him. He knew he had failed the landing when he felt the rush of falling engulf his chest, creating a lump in his throat. He hit the frosty ground with a solid, devastating,  _ thump.  _ A freezing shock shot through where he landed on his thigh and through the rest of his leg. It reverberated through his lower back. He knew there would absolutely be a massive bruise where he had landed.

George was defeated. He didn’t want to get up. He could feel the ice beneath him slowly melting into his pants. All he wanted was one good run before he could go home and feel good about his rehearsal. He swore under his breath. He had to get up in the next few seconds so he could keep up with the music. He had to get up. 

Gulping the panicked lump in his throat, George pushed himself up from the ice. His stiff thigh ached through each boost over the rink. One leg crossed over the next, crossed over the next, pushing him faster and faster into the next move. He slowed only slightly into it and kicked out one leg before him. He squatted, getting so low to the ice he could feel it radiate through his damp pants. He then grabbed between the blade and shoe of his skate and tucked his chin in towards his chest as he began to spin. He accelerated faster and faster as he turned in place. George had to focus on a single point on the ice beneath him so he wouldn’t get sick. Mid turn, he jumped up off the ice for a short moment before coming back down, grabbing the sides of his torso, and spinning once more. He could sense his angry thigh begging him to quit now, but he wouldn’t. 

George rose out of the trick and started crossing the ice once again spreading his arms out before him, as if he was going to embrace the empty space. Then came the next jump pass, which was significantly easier than the first. He vaulted into the simple leap and landed in a lunge which sent him backwards into the next little skip. Yet another jump, in which he spun in the air and landed again, proceeded those two. 

The free skate was all but done then. All that remained were a few embellishments and dance moves. George went through with them as empowered as he had the jumps and spins. He listened for the last few cues from the piano until he was back in the center and the melancholy last note echoed through the arena. 

George collapsed out of his finishing pose. He tried desperately not to become overwhelmed with anger over not completing the jump. It was the one new thing he was attempting for this season and he had never been able to do it correctly in the full performance. His thigh was throbbing. Remnants of past failures to do the jump only amplified the pain from this attempt. He groaned, defeated, and skated back to his phone. 

But the sound of clapping caught him dead in his tracks halfway across the ice. 

George’s heart skipped. Someone was in there with him. Someone may have seen him absolutely eat ice a few just minutes previous. The thought of him messing up in front of someone made him feel ill, but he had to see who it was. So, he turned to find the source, though he couldn’t see much from under the vibrant lights. 

“Pretty rough fall there,” Said the source, disguised in the shadows. The voice was familiar, George thought. He had heard it recently but… And then he came into view, coming closer to the barrier against the ice. 

It was The Dream. Again. 

“But that was,” The hockey player said, sounding almost baffled. “That was absolutely amazing.”

George gulped. For the second time in one day George had somehow made a fool of himself in front of this guy because he was so unobservant and absorbed in his sport. And… for the second time in one day he had done the complete opposite of what George would have expected him to do. He would’ve thought that a jock like him would have made fun of him for falling, for not being perfect. But there he was, cheering him on. 

“Um,” He stuttered. “Thanks.” The figure skater smiled painfully. 

“Sorry to scare you,” Dream spoke. “I forgot something over here, and didn’t want to interupt.” He motioned to a spot against the barrier on the ice where a small stack of miniature traffic cones sat. 

“Oh,” George smiled, he hadn’t even noticed the leftover supplies. “Don’t worry about it. I’m uh…” He racked his brain for a normal response —  something that wouldn’t let on how intrigued he was with the gentle hockey player. “I’m glad to have an audience, I guess.” 

“I could probably watch you forever.” The hockey player stated. George was aware of the odd phrasing as he watched the man opposite him’s face become engulfed in red mortification. “You-- I mean, figure skating. Figure  _ skaters _ . Not uh… not you, specifically. Just. Just figure skating in,” Dream cleared his throat. “In general.” 

George knew now that he had the upper hand, Dream was way more embarrassed than he was. He felt some anxious tension lift off his chest as he spoke again. 

“Are you a fan?” He asked. “Of figure skating?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” The hockey player nodded and scratched the back of his floppy haired head. “Just casually, you know. Like the olympics o-or… I dunno it’s uh, it’s pretty. I-It’s cool. It’s pretty cool.” The hockey player complementing the sport he loved so much made George blush.

“Yeah, I uh…” He fought against the overwhelming feeling of infatuation towards The Dream. “I guess you could say I like it.” George laughed at his own silly joke, lightening the awkward mood. 

Dream opened the gate and shuffled over to the stack of traffic cones. He was no longer wearing his ice skates, but instead wore normal sneakers, which made his task appear awfully tedious. George watched his scoop them up and then, instead of exiting again, he made his way towards George in the middle of the rink. He stuck his hand out — a greeting. He had also removed his gloves so now George could see the hockey player’s bronzed skin and slender fingers. 

“I’m Dream by the way.” He said. 

“Oh,” George reached out and shook his hand, gloved fingers meeting bare. He was surprised to hear the hockey player actually introduce himself with that name. “That’s really your name?” 

“Oh no, it’s not,” He responded, giving a warm grin. Their hands dropped away to their sides. “But that’s what everyone calls me.”

“Well,  _ Dream, _ ” George let the unique name roll off his tongue. “I’m George.” 

“Nice to meet you, George.” Dream simpered, and George’s heart fluttered slightly. 

For an awkward moment, they stood there silently. George tried his hardest not to look too long into the hockey player’s seafoam eyes.There was something incredibly welcoming and summery about his smile and gaze —  George couldn’t ignore it no matter how much he tried. 

Then they both started backing away from one another and George spoke up; “I’m going to go now,” 

“Yeah,” Dream responded. “Me too. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow.” George agreed. And despite his previous fears towards the hockey player, he was actually looking forward to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take ur crumbs hehehe i published this sooner than i though bc i was in a good mood after taking my exam lol. i have one week off before starting school again so i am going to GRIND so i can get a lot done before spring semester starts. thanks again for reading !!

**Author's Note:**

> constructive and positive feedback is absolutely welcome in the comments. thanks for reading, i appreciate you !! <33


End file.
